“Captain, there’s something we got to talk about. We gotta problem. Something happened at the last scene…”
A voice as yet unheard from boomed through the room, “Problem? Who got a problem? We don’t got no problems here, do we? None ay-tall.”
Rhyme looked up at the tall, thin man in the doorway. He was jet black and wore a ridiculous green suit and shoes that shone like brown mirrors. Rhyme’s heart plummeted. “Dellray.”
“Lincoln Rhyme. New York’s own Ironside. Hey, Lon. And Jim Polling, how’s it hangin’, buddy?”
Behind Dellray were a half-dozen other men and a woman. Rhyme knew in a heartbeat why the federal agents were here. Dellray scanned the officers in the room, his attention alighting momentarily on Sachs then flying away.
“What do you want?” Polling asked.
Dellray said, “Haven’t you guessed, gemmuns. You’re outa business. We closin’ you up. Yessir. Just like a bookie.”
SEVENTEEN
ONE OF US.
That’s how Dellray was looking at Lincoln Rhyme as he walked around the bed. Some people did this. Paralysis was a club and they crashed the party with jokes, nods, winks. You know I love you, man, ’cause I’m makin’ funna you.
Lincoln Rhyme had learned that this attitude got tiring very, very quickly.
“Lookit that,” Dellray said, poking at the Clinitron, “That’s something outa Star Trek. Commander Riker, get your ass in the shuttle.”
“Go away, Dellray,” Polling said. “It’s our case.”
“And how’s dis here patient doing, Dr. Crusher?”
The captain was stepping forward, a rooster the lanky FBI agent towered over. “Dellray, you listening? Go away.”
“Man, I’ma get me one of those, Rhyme. Lay my ass down in it, watcha game. Seriously, Lincoln, how you doin’? Been a few years.”
“Did they knock?” Rhyme asked Thom.
“No, they didn’t knock.”
“You didn’t knock,” Rhyme said. “So may I suggest that you leave?”
“Gotta warrant,” Dellray murmured, flicking papers in his breast pocket.
Amelia Sachs’s right index fingernail worried her thumb, which was on the verge of bleeding.
Dellray looked around the room. He was clearly impressed at their impromptu lab but strangled the feeling fast. “We’re taking over. Sorry.”
In twenty years of policing, Rhyme had never seen a peremptory takeover like this.
UNSUB 823 (page 1 of 3)
Appearance
•Caucasian male, slight build
•Dark clothing
Residence
•Prob. has safe house
•Located near: B’way & 82nd,
Anderson Foods Greenwich & Bank, 34th & Lex,
Vehicle
•Yellow Cab
Other
•knows CS proc.
•possibly has record
•knows FR prints
•gun =.32 Colt
UNSUB 823 (page 2 of 3)
Appearance
•Old gloves, reddish kidskin
•Ski mask? Navy blue?
Residence
ShopRite 2nd Ave.or 72nd-73rd or B’way & 96th,
• Grocery World Battery Park City,
•J &G’s Emporium 1709 2nd Ave.,
•Food Warehouse 8th Ave. & 24th,
Vehicle
•Recent model sedan
Other
•Ties vics w/ unusual knots
•“Old” appeals to him
•Called one vic “Hanna”
•Knows basic German
UNSUB 823 (page 3 of 3)
Appearance
•Gloves are dark
Residence
•ShopRite Houston & Lafayette or 6th Ave. & Houston,
•J &G’s Emporium Greenwich & Franklin
Vehicle
•Lt. gray, silver, beige
Other
•Underground appeals to him
•Dual personalities
•Maybe priest, soc. worker, counselor
“Fuck this, Dellray,” Sellitto began, “you passed on the case.”
The agent swiveled his glossy black face around until he was looking down at the detective.
“Passed? Passed? I never got no ring-a-ling about it. D’jou call me?”
“No.”
“Then who dropped the dime?”
“Well…” Sellitto, surprised, glanced at Polling, who said, “You got an advisory. That’s all we’ve gotta send you.” On the defensive now too.
“An advisory. Yeah. And, hey, how ’xactly was that delivered? Would that have been by Pony Ex-press? Book-rate mail? Tell me, Jim, what’s the good of an overnight advisory when there’s an ongoing operation?”
Polling said, “We didn’t see the need.”
“We?” Dellray asked quickly. Like a surgeon spotting a microscopic tumor.
“I didn’t see the need,” Polling snapped. “I told the mayor to keep it a local operation. We’ve got it under control. Now fuck off, Dellray.”
“And you thought you could wrap it up in time for the eleven o’clock news.”
Rhyme was startled when Polling shouted, “What we thought was none of your goddamn business. It’s our fucking case.” He knew about the captain’s legendary temper but he’d never seen it in action.
“Ac-tu-ally, it’s ou-ur fuck-ing case now.” Dellray strolled past the table that held Cooper’s equipment.
Rhyme said, “Don’t do this, Fred. We’re getting a handle on this guy. Work with us but don’t take it away. This unsub isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen.”
Dellray smiled. “Let’s see, what’s the latest I hear about this ‘fuck-ing’ case? That you’ve got a civvy doin’ the ’rensics.” The agent forewent a glance at the Clinitron bed. “You got a portable doing crime scene. You got soldiers out buying groceries.”
“Evidence standards, Frederick,” Rhyme reminded stridently. “That’s SOP.”
Dellray looked disappointed. “But ESU, Lincoln? All those taxpayer dollars. Then there’s cutting up people like TexasChainsaw…”
How had that news got out? Everyone was sworn to secrecy on the dismemberment issue.
“And whatsis I hear ’bout Haumann’s boys found the vic but dint go in and save her right away? Channel Five had a Big Ear mike on it. Got her screaming for a good five minutes ’fore you sent somebody in.” He glanced at Sellitto with a wry grin. “Lon, my man, would that’ve been the problem you were just talking about?”
They’d come so far, Rhyme was thinking. They were getting a feel for him, starting to learn the unsub’s language. Starting to see him. With a burst of surprise he understood that he was once again doing what he loved. After all these years. And now somebody was going to take it away from him. Anger rippled inside him.
“Take the case, Fred,” Rhyme grumbled. “But don’t cut us out. Don’t do it.”
“You lost two vics,” Dellray reminded.
“We lost one,” Sellitto corrected, looking uneasily at Polling, who was still fuming. “Nothing we coulda done about the first. He was a calling card.”
Dobyns, arms crossed, merely observed the argument. But Jerry Banks leapt in. “We’ve got his routine down now. We aren’t going to lose any more.”
“You are if ESU’s gonna sit around listenin’ to vics scream their heads off.”
Sellitto said, “It was my -”
“My decision,” Rhyme sang out. “Mine.”
“But you’re civvy, Lincoln. So it couldn’t have been your decision. It mighta been your suggestion. It mighta been your recommendation. But I don’t think it was your decision.”
Dellray’s attention had turned to Sachs again. His eyes on her, he said to Rhyme, “You told Peretti not to run the scene? That’s mighty curious, Lincoln. Why’d you go and do something like that?”
Rhyme said, “I’m better than he is.”
“Peretti’s not a happy boy scout. Nosir. He and I had a chin wag with Eckert.”